


selfish

by jhoom



Series: responsibility, love, determination & death [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Masturbation, Minor Lisa Braeden/Dean Winchester, Still not a happy ending, ghost!cas, voyerism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-12
Updated: 2016-10-12
Packaged: 2018-08-22 03:05:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8270260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jhoom/pseuds/jhoom
Summary: Castiel thought sticking around after his death was for Dean's benefit.  It turns out his motives are more selfish than he thought.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is a continuation of my story loss (part one of this series). It's actually more of a timestamp for that fic from Cas' POV, so the first part is kind of required reading in order to be able to make sense of what's going on here. Notice that it's tagged 'still not a happy ending' because well... it's not. 
> 
> If you have concerns about the MCD or underage tags, jump down to the endnotes for spoilers/explanation. I will say that if you've read the first part, this part is a smidge less nsfw even though it deals with the same events.
> 
> And as always, come visit me on [tumblr](http://jhoomwrites.tumblr.com) ;)

Castiel sits in the backseat of his parent’s car, playing on the family tablet.  This father recently let him download Plants versus Zombies (mostly at Dean’s prodding), and he’s been doing his best to learn the game.  Brow furrowed in concentration, Castiel blessedly doesn’t feel it when it happens.  He barely looks up at the sound of screeching tires and horns blaring.  

There’s a moment later when he almost wakes up.  His vision is blurred and he can’t parse out any of the words, but the room he’s in sounds cluttered.  He tries to move.  With much effort he’s able to jerk his arm, alarming those around him.  The movement awakens countless bursts of agony throughout his body, and he cries out.  

Liquid cold is pumped through his veins, urgent whispers pleading with him to do something he doesn’t understand, and the pain ebbs slightly.  What little he could see narrows more and more until he’s left with nothing but a pin prick to look through, and that too fades to nothing.

When he wakes up, he feels like he hasn’t.  He’s floating above a building (the hospital?) and the trees, a torrent open in the sky above him pulling him up up up.  Castiel lets it, fascinated as it claims him.  It starts to pick up speed, almost ready to consume him whole, when he feels a tug at his navel.  

The wind picks up, trying to clutch and paw at him and regain its hold, but he doesn’t budge.  He’s like a balloon securely tied - the storm rages and howls, he remains where he is.  Confused, he concentrates on the feeling grounding him.  He looks and looks and eventually a gossamer thread reveals itself.  It disappears in the light but is strong enough to hold him.  

Turning his back to the vortex above him, he grabs at the thread.  Once he has it, an overwhelming sense of _longing_ and _sadness_ overtakes him.  He climbs the rope downward, hand over hand without turning back.  The winds die down to a gentle breeze the closer to ground he gets, so he stays low as he follows the thread through town.  

After navigating the business district surrounding the hospital (he was right about that much at least), he ends up in familiar neighborhoods.  He has a feeling where he’ll end up, but to his surprise the thread bypasses his home and keeps going.  After a moment’s consideration, he moves on.  

The Winchester home greets him at the end of its cul-de-sac.  He doesn’t know why, but he feels some time has passed since he was last here.  Some of the plants in the flower bed look wilted, the toys in the front yard look weather beaten, and there’s just something _sad_ lingering over the house.  Castiel takes a moment to try and find out what’s wrong, what’s changed since he was last here, but he can find no cause.  

He no longer needs the thread to guide him.  He floats up through Dean’s window and sees his friend getting dressed.  There’s a suit laid out on his bed, one that looks a size too small and the material seems stiff from disuse.  Dean’s eyes are red and glisten from unshed tears, and that’s the final clue Castiel needs to understand.

\- - - -

It’s particularly grim to attend your own funeral, but Castiel sees no alternative.  He’s there in support for Dean, soothing the other boy in what ways he can (there are none, unfortunately, but he has to try all the same).  

His parents are there, eyes red but dry.  There’s the undercurrent of pain radiating from them, but it’s buried beneath numbness and guilt.  His mother’s arm is in a sling and every piece of skin that shows is bruised, but Castiel is pleased nonetheless that his mother survived the crash that killed him.  

But their sorrow doesn’t touch him the way Dean’s does.  Theirs is managed (however poorly).  Dean’s grief is a raw wound, open and festering.  One that he’s too young to understand how to treat or to let heal.  It draws Castiel in every time he finds himself drifting, like Dean’s soul is calling out to Castiel for comfort.  So he hovers by Dean, tries to touch his shoulder or pat his head.  

Dean doesn’t notice, but the edges of his pain dull ever so slightly.

The day is both long but oddly short.  He recognizes the passing of time as the sun moves across the sky and the shadows under Dean’s eyes grow.  But his awareness comes and goes like the tide.  He’s caught in Dean’s orbit, though, so even after the lost moments, he finds his friend at arm’s length.  Then he’ll rub the space between Dean’s shoulder blades

There’s one such time he loses himself in counting Dean’s freckles.  He gets to sixty seven, crossing the bridge of Dean’s nose, when he finds it hard to see.  Blinking in surprise, he realizes it’s night again.  Dean sniffles in his sleep, tucked into his bed and sleeping fitfully.  It should be worrisome that time can slip by without his notice, but he’s just relieved to see Dean’s features smoothed out and relaxed.

When the other boy wakes up, Cas feels loneliness for the first time since waking up dead.  He makes a decision then and there.  Focusing very hard, he tries to speak.

_“Dean, I’m here.”_

His friend glares at the plate of food on his nightstand and rolls over to pout.  

_“Dean, I’m… I’m still here for you.”_

Dean watches the shadows.  Castiel keeps talking, hoping his voice will get strong enough to be heard.  But there’s something reassuring, though, about knowing Dean can’t hear him.

 _“I’m sorry I left you.  I didn’t mean to.  I… I miss you.  I’m right here but I miss you anyway.  Because I think I’m starting to figure out this ruins everything.  No more sleep overs or doing homework together or weekend trips to the zoo.  And…  and…”_ He takes a shuddering breath, only to feel even more disconnected from his life when he remembers he doesn’t even need the air.

He hovers there, at the edge of Dean’s bed, and joins his friend in staring at the shadows dancing along the wall.  Eventually, with resignation, he sighs and tells him, _“You really should eat something.”_

Dean stiffens under his blankets.  Frowning, Castiel continues, _“I mean it, Dean.  You haven’t eaten all day.”_

The other boy jolts up, and Castiel swears that if he still had a beating heart, it would’ve stopped right then and there.  Hope wells up inside of him for the first time as he goes on.   _“You should eat your dinner, Dean. There’s no reason to waste food.”_

It takes some convincing for Dean to recognize who he is, and Castiel ignores the bitter sting of that.  He knows better, Dean’s longing for him an almost physical weight on his non-body, but the suggestion that Dean could one day forget him threatens to fling him back at the torrent in the sky.  He wants to tell Dean that, that he’s the only thing keeping him there, and he does in a fashion.  If he neglects to mention how devastated he’d be to leave, that’s no one’s business but his own.

That night is the start of something, a new life cast in the shadow of his old one, but it holds promises he looks forward to discovering.

\- - - -

Castiel has heard enough ghost stories that he’s afraid of himself sometimes.  He doesn’t test his boundaries too much, stays within the confines of what he’s done so far because that’s _safe_.  He likes to think of himself as a friendly spirit, not as a ghostly apparition meant to frighten and haunt.  The small pranks on same are the only allowance he makes to this, and mostly he does that to see Dean smile.

But when Dean looks at him in wide-eyed fear one night, too scared to fall asleep after watching a scary movie with his father, Castiel finds himself glad to be what he is.  He watches over Dean, letting his eyes glow in the dark of their shared room to show that he’ll be capable of protecting Dean should the need arise.  

The other boy fidgets in his sleep, a whine escaping him, and the decision to enter Dean’s dream isn’t even a conscious one.  

It sets up a rhythm to their days, this sleep-walking thing he can do.  Dean goes to school with Cas in tow (he may be no longer be alive, but he has not lost his love for learning).  They’ll watch TV together, work on homework together, chat about nothing until Dean falls asleep.  Then they dream together.  

He always follows Dean’s lead.  If Dean wants to play at being superheroes or astronauts, then he lets him.  They’re firefighters and legionaries and for a month straight they’re monster hunters because it makes Dean feel better after a string of nightmares caused by another scary movie.  It reminds Castiel of when they played pretend as five year olds, friends who’d only just met and were still learning each other, and he holds onto that fiercely.  So he always lets Dean pick their nightly adventure.  They _are_ Dean’s dreams after all.

(There are times Castiel wonders what he _would_ dream about if he could.  If Dean _were_ to hand over the reins and he were to accept, what would he want?  As time passes, he sees this as the dangerous question it is, for all he wants are green eyes and soft lips and a warm hand to hold, and he’s not sure it’s a good idea to follow those thoughts any further than that.)

\- - - -

As he gets older (and it’s Dean who insists that Castiel _does_ in fact get older, even if outwardly there are no signs of it), he finds himself wanting more independence.  When Dean’s in class or otherwise occupied, he lets himself wander the school.  More and more he stretches against the tether tying him to Dean, experimenting with just how far he can go.  

The thin string between them, once hard as steel, is usually slack these days.  It’s always there, waiting for him if he needs to follow it back to Dean, but it remains out of sight as he travels.  (Occasionally he feels overwhelmed, when he finds himself in the middle of downtown.  He’s surrounded but so utterly alone.  Panic will sometimes well inside him, and he’ll give the string a sharp pull to remind himself that he’s here and he’s someone and he _matters_ , if only to Dean.)

His favorite places to visit are the library and the art museum.  They never cease hold something new for him to explore, and he relishes the opportunity to walk the halls at his leisure.  There are nights he stays out late and even passes up on dream-walking with Dean because he’s so engrossed in a new exhibit or new book.  He reads and reads, concentrating his hardest to lift the books from their shelves and turn the pages.  

And though he ~~loves~~  enjoys his time with Dean, he likes that he’s found something that’s all his own.

Occasionally he visits his parents.  Years passed before he even attempted it, and even with the intervening time, he can see how hard things have been for them.  He watches them eat dinner and shuffle about, giving each other soft smiles.  They seem happy, or at least content, but their happiness is muted and sometimes troubled.  

It takes him far too long to realize what he can do for them to help ease the pain of his death.

When he walks their dreams, they don’t notice him at first.  Their dreams are very similar - a house much like their own, but Castiel’s room no longer a dusty shrine to their son’s life.  No, it looks very similar to Dean’s currently does, walls splattered with movie and band posters, textbooks strewn across his bed.  There are clothes on the floor, ones too big for the body he knew but not unlike what he would choose for himself.

And the best worst part is the version of him living in those dreams.  He watches with wide-eyes as the teenager he never was talks about school and field trips and band practice and girls and all that nonsense Dean sometimes goes on about.  Sometimes he’ll stand next to his older self, looking up to see bright blue eyes and hair far tamer than his ever was.  The subtle hint of stubble that makes him want to reach out and run his hands across the coarse hairs.

It’s not as easy as with Dean’s dreams, but he slowly finds a way to exert control.  He dismisses the teenage Castiel and walks up to his father.  It’s easier with him, to sit him down and tell him it’s okay.  Not to be sad anymore and that he wants them to be happy.  His father holds him tight until he wakes up, but he seems visibly more at ease in the days that follow.

With his mother it’s almost brutal.  She cries when she’s sees her eleven year old son.  She won’t look at him, can’t hold back the tears.  Castiel tries again and again, but it’s too much for her to be confronted by him in that form.  Instead he forces himself to learn a new trick, to take on the guise of his teenage self as she’s constructed it in her head.  

The whole experience is a little disconcerting.  It takes so much concentration to keep this form, never mind that it’s strange being in a body that's so big.  Walking in and of itself is a challenge, the mechanics of it escaping him for the first few steps.  He hasn’t to actually walk since the accident.  Even with Dean, he prefers to float.  But he makes the effort now as he tries to comfort his mother.  

He goes up behind her in the kitchen and hugs her.  Tells her the accident wasn’t her fault and that he’s never blamed her, not once.  Promises again and again that he’s happy and he wants her to find some happiness too.  That it’s not a betrayal to his memory to move on.

He checks on them after that, and there’s a definite change.  They’re less burdened, and he’s glad he was able to do that for them.  They don’t dream of him as often, and he takes it to mean they’re starting to move on.  Thoughts of the future replace the ghosts of their past.  His teenage self still roams their dream home form time to time, but he’s fading more and more into the background as new desires come forth.  

Unsure why, he files this form away for later.

\- - - -

When Dean learns to masturbate, it… well, it changes things.  It awakens something in him.  Not a physical urge, but rather a curiosity and a type of desire that he suspects is not much different from the ones Dean feels.  He wants to watch, in no small part because he likes how breathy and undone it makes Dean.

Dean, however, only allows him to watch once or twice before he deems it inappropriate.  Castiel doesn’t know what to make of that, given that Dean seems to like him being there.  His pupils dilate and his heart rate spikes when the ghost appears, the grip on his dick tightening and his pace faltering before picking up with renewed vigor.  He likes sharing those moments with Dean, but the other boy blushes and stammers out pleas for Cas to give him privacy.

As always, he does as Dean asks.  

~~A few times, though, he comes back too early.  Dean’s brow is covered in a sheen of sweat as his hand works.  The way he bites his lip is almost sinful, head thrown back and eyes screwed shut.  Though he knows it’s wrong of him to do so, Castiel doesn’t leave.  He takes advantage of his poor (good?) timing.  Makes himself invisible to Dean and sits on the bed next to him.  Takes in how beautiful Dean is as he loses himself in his own pleasure.  Reaches out to touch, because he simply can’t _help_ it.~~

~~As soon as the contact’s made, no matter where he touches, Dean’s back will arch off the bed and he’ll come with a pitiful whine.~~

\- - - -

Dean’s invited by some friends to a lake house for the weekend, but he declines.  Says he’s not feeling up to it, but a look at the calendar reveals the truth.  

They don’t celebrate Castiel’s birthday anymore.  Castiel himself doesn’t see the point.  It’s a day meant to mark another year’s progression, but he grows no older.  Instead they celebrate the day his return to Dean as a ghost.  When Castiel points how grim it is, Dean shakes his head and says it only makes sense.  It’s a day that Dean can’t untangle from their friendship.

~~It’s like their anniversary.~~

So Dean declines the invitation and opts to stay with Castiel.  He plans out elaborate dream adventures for them, reminiscent of the first ones they had nearly three years ago.  His enthusiasm is endearing, but it doesn’t catch.  Not when he sees the string of text messages from his friends, various well wishes that he’ll feel better and that they wish he was there.

More and more, Castiel has to acknowledge the truth.

He knows Dean feels selfish, wanting Cas to stay with him.  But since the moment he learned Dean's suffering kept him here, Castiel thinks the truth is much worse.  Castiel’s continued presence does nothing but make it harder for Dean to move on.  He's the only one who benefits from this arrangement.  If he had the strength, he would move on for them both.

\- - - -

Castiel understands truly how selfish he is when Lisa’s brought into the picture.  The pretty girl is a familiar face, a classmate from kindergarten he remembers as being gentle and friendly.  That knowledge does nothing to lessen the blow when Dean proudly announces that they’re dating.

It shouldn’t sting, but it does.  He _should_ be happy for Dean, that he’s found someone who he can spend his time with and date and make high school memories with.

More and more, the discomfort of his jealousy settles into his being.  It turns everything sour, makes conversations with Dean seem like a trial.  He hates it.

The reason occurs to him, blindsiding him as badly as the car crash.

_“Dean, can I ask you something?”_

“Yeah, shoot.”  Dean doesn’t look up from his homework, and that’s probably for the best.  

He doesn’t want to know the answer, but he _has_ to.   _“Are you… are you in love with Lisa?”_

They argue, truly argue, for the first time in years.  He lashes out at Dean and his notions of love and life experience.  Not because he disagrees, but because his heart feels crushed in a vice listening to Dean talk about love like it’s something he can’t recognize because he’s too young to know it.

In that instant, Cas learns the hard way that _he_ knows love.  Has known it for years, has let it grow and grow under the name of friendship but now it’s too big and strong to be hidden by such a poorly constructed disguise.  

In that instant, he knows he loves Dean.  

In the next, he knows he’ll never have him.

\- - - -

He goes to the cemetery, a place he’s carefully avoided since his own funeral.  He doesn’t like it here, or at the hospital.  Not once has he seen another spirit, but he can sense them in these places.  It puts him on edge, but he ignores it as he makes his way through the tombstones.

Even after all this time, he finds the way to his own grave easily.

Hovering above the mound, there’s nothing to do but read and re-read the words.

_Castiel Milton_

_Beloved Son, Dear Friend_

_May Heaven Take Care of Its Newest Angel_

The crash was meant to kill him.  He was _supposed_ to die and move on.  For years now, he’s been trying to justify his continued presence in Dean’s life as a friend looking after another friend.  His best friend _needed_ him.  But no, he knows better now.  Dean doesn’t _need_ him.  Dean _wants_ him.  

That’s been enough for years, but what happens when the day comes that Dean _doesn’t_ need him?  And if miraculously the other boy makes room in his life for a ghost, he’ll never _want_ Castiel the way Castiel wants him.

Decision made, he heads back to Dean.  If he’s going to do the right thing and move on, isn’t he allowed one last selfish act before that?

\- - - -

He gives in, whispers his love to Dean so that at least he’ll have heard it once before Castiel’s gone.  

Dean doesn’t say it back.

He wants to think it doesn’t matter that Dean doesn’t say the words.  That it’s better, because it means Dean’s losing less now.  

It matters, though.  It really really matters.

\- - - -

Not only does he hate going to the hospital, he hates even looking at it.  The torrent in the sky is a permanent fixture there, undoubtedly pulling all dead souls towards it.  He’s sure that’s the way to move on, to pass through the windy tunnel and let whatever comes next happen.  

Looking up at it now, he’s as terrified as he’s ever been.  Too scared to move, he looks away and asks himself why he’s doing this.  If he hurries, he could get back before Dean wakes up and reads the message he left.  He could-

 _No,_ he tells himself firmly.   _This is for the best.  This is for Dean._

Fear makes him hesitate.  He’s made up his mind, but there’s no rush.  Instead he goes into the hospital.  He decides it wouldn’t be terrible to do some final good deeds before he leaves this world.  Might as well, right?

He retrieves a lost balloon for a little girl.  Nudges a lost family in the right direction as they visit a friend.  Sits with an old woman as they take her off life support, no family or friends left to keep her company.  Then the idea occurs to him that he can help calm those suffering from trauma or comas.  

One by one, he visits their dreams.  Replaces their nightmares with something better.  Plays softball with a high school girl who’s in for surgery.  Tells a dad that his children are crowded around his bed, waiting for him to wake up from a nasty fall off their roof.  He visits a dozen dreams until he comes to the room with the little boy.  

The chart says he’s been in a coma for some time and is minimally responsive.  Castiel’s already paid a visit to three other coma patients, found them hiding in the corners of their minds.  He’s done his best to guide them back to wakefulness, but he supposes he’ll never know if he succeeded.  He’ll try again for this boy.

Looking down at him, there’s an uncanny resemblance.  Younger even than he was when he died, the seven year old’s skin is pale from too long inside this drab room.  His dark hair is combed back - no doubt his parents or a nurse have been taking care that he sees no neglect - and the blankets are neatly tucked around him.  Around all the tubes and wires, his features are slack and his machine-controlled breathing is even.

This poor child deserves the second chance he never saw.  Glad that he’s taking this time to do what he can for the other lost souls here, Castiel enters the boy’s dream.

It’s unlike anything he’s ever seen.  There’s nothing but black and white and gray.  No shapes no sounds, nothing but a barren wasteland of shades.  There’s no trace of anyone else, nor any place where the boy could be hidden.  It’s just… empty.

Castiel starts to pull back, thinking either that he’s made a mistake or that the boy is well and truly just an empty vessel now.  As soon as his mind starts to retreat, dark tendrils close in on him.  He cries out as his limbs are bound, as the darkness coils around him, squeezing and choking him.  Struggling does nothing but cause the hold on him to tighten, but in his panic makes him thrash wildly against it.  

It overpowers him with ease, clouding his vision and making his thoughts fuzzy.  As the darkness finally overtakes him, he hears a terrible _SNAP_ as his tether to Dean breaks apart.  

**Author's Note:**

> MCD: Cas dies in the beginning of the fic, that's how he becomes a ghost
> 
> Underage: There's talk of 14 year old Dean masturbating and Cas being around to watch
> 
> \----
> 
> it's probably pretty obvious where i'm going from here. there's at least one more part (though there's potential for a fourth part) from Dean's POV. again, if you're interested in the (eventual) happy ending, you'll need to be subscribed to the series to get further updates. toodles!


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